You must Reap all that you Sow
by Jedi Arwen Sparrow Winchester
Summary: "Like a beaten pillow, thrown out of a high tower and its feathers flying to and fro, impossible to gather together again; His wrongs could never all be caught and made right." A short fic about Maedhros' thoughts towards the end. R n R!


**Disclaimer: I do not own the Simarillion, it belongs to the Tolkiens. **

**A/N: I really don't know why I wrote this, but it just came to me when I was reading the Simarillion this afternoon. Something about Maedhros' betrayal…it just seemed to fit with me somehow. **

"_How do we know that those in Valinor will lift our judgment?_

_Why do we not simply take the Simarils, which belonged to our father?"_

His own words, he thought, as he walked steadily towards the cliff's edge. Maedhros' face was devoid of any feeling, devoted simply to battle with his errant thoughts, and the ever present pain of his burning hand.

"_Why did I say that? It was all a lost cause…"_ He clutched the Simaril tighter and did not even wince as the burning grew unbearably strong.

_It was all pride, wasn't it?_ _The wish to escape judgement, judgement that he knew he deserved. _

_What had he gained? He had searched forever, battling the forces of Morgorth…for a simple jewel?_

His eyes grew glassy as he stepped closer to the edge of the deep chasm. A tortured silence filled the air over the cliffs, as a soft moaning wind blew about its rocky tops.

"I do not deserve this thing," he said. "It is so pure, unlike how I have become."

He could not stop a few wretched tears from leaking out of his bloodshot eyes. This jewel, this beautiful jewel, would forever plague him with memories.

_It would never allow him to have peace in his mind, to forget, to simply slip into the sweetness of forgetfulness. _

His vibrant red hair blew across his face and his now flowing tears held it there. He could never forget.

_Never forget, never let go, never let go of his crimes and sins. Never, he would always be a murderer, a kinslayer, a traitor….a liar…a horrible coward. _

"Even if I could go back…I would be undeserving of Illuvatar's forgiveness, however great it may be."

_Kinslayer, murderer of even those he called his kindred. That was an unforgiveable crime. _

His mind frayed in hapless torture, torture that the body could never experience. The body could be in anguish, but the torment of the mind outlasts bodily pain.

"We have sinned so much," he whispered, "We can never be innocent again."

His legs felt weak under him, and he sank to his knees at the cliff's edge. Tears that had not leaked for so many years gushed uninhibited from his hollow face.

He stared down the chasm, and saw a river of flames flowing at the bottom. Fire, he had been born of fire. Too much was he like his father, too much did he nurture his pride.

_Pride? Where had it gotten him? What was the use of building up pride, if it would simply destroy your heart and soul?_

He put out his arms and stared at his remaining hand, imagining the other. Those hands…had committed so many wrongs, they could not be counted.

_Like a beaten pillow, thrown out of a high tower and its feathers flying to and fro, impossible to gather them together again; His wrongs could never all be caught and made right. _

The flames from below sent waves of heat to his face, and into his heart. He was born of fire, and so fire would consume him.

He stood up again. "Why did this have to happen?" he cried in a hoarse voice. "Was it our destiny all along?"

Only the wind moaned quietly, there were no other voices.

A voice seemed to creep out of the depths of his conscious. "Become fire again. Simply die, there is no other way."

"No," he gasped. "I cannot do this!"

An image of his mother came to his mind. She was weeping, and there was horror in her face. "My son, why have you done this? Why have you forsaken the path that you were meant for?"

The pain grew further. "Mother, I am so sorry," he sobbed, although he knew it would do no good. "Is there no way out?"

The voice responded simply. "That which you sow, that will you reap. Do not play the part of coward longer, you sowed hatred and death. Now you must reap death."

Maedhros' boots teetered on the edge. Then shutting his eyes tight and clutching the Simaril to him, he fell forwards.

As he fell, he whispered one last thing, "I only wish I could change the past."

**A/N: Yes, it's a very sad ending, but I am sure he was forgiven eventually in the Halls of Mandos. This is my first Simarillion fic, so please review!**


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